Abnormal
by MaraudersMWPP
Summary: I have come to the conclusion that life hates me.  I know what you're thinking how could life possibly hate James Potter? Well life didn't give you an 150 year old ghost that only you can see, decide to make your bedroom home.


I often wondered about the life after death. First, does it exist, and what is it like? I used to go to sleep at night thinking such thoughts. It wasn't that I was religious or anything, though to the outsider it may have seemed as if I was. I went to church every Sunday, and prayed every night, but I still wasn't sure. It was foolish to worry. I should have just carried on with life, savouring every moment while I could but as almost every human, I saw myself as immortal. I thought I had all the time in the world. Why worry about something as ridiculous as death at my age.

Boy was I wrong.

All I remember was walking through the woods at almost midnight. The only worry on my mind was that Mother and Father would surely notice my absence if I dallied for too long. As I heard the snaps of twigs and rustles of bushes increase in sound and frequency I started losing my confidence in the familiar terrain. Still, I just wrapped my shawl tighter around myself, and sped up.

My last living memory was a sharp, familiar laugh-of almost accomplishment, as if my attacker was _proud_ of himself –then a thump as a heavy object– a rock, I presume (the woods is hardly abundant with blunt objects) struck my head, and ended my current concerns. All I saw was blackness.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in exactly the same place, but it was day now, and as I stood and looked down I found it hard not to hyperventilate or faint. I took 5 (unnecessary) deep breaths to calm myself down. The scene in which I was looking at was the most horrible thing I have witnessed, even to this day. I stood looking at myself; bloody with many stab wounds and contorted into the most painful-looking position I have ever seen, yet I did not feel the slightest discomfort, well, not completely, but my discomfort was purely mental. I shudder for the unfortunate person who would no doubt find me, in my beautiful floral patterned ivory dress that was now stained with blood with my head lying aimlessly with my brown tendrils of hair twisted with my blood. I turned quickly and fled the gruesome scene.

I soon discovered that no one could see nor hear me but they could feel me physically if I decided to touch them. I was also able to pick up objects and through them around the room which when I was frustrated was a good way of letting off steam.

I was not one to believe in supernatural occurrences which could not be explained, and clung to the hope that the corpse had been somebody's sick idea of a joke, or it was just a dream. But as the years past I soon found, this was not so.

I had been wandering for a while – 150 years to be exact – by the time I first met James Potter. He was born in the amniotic sac, a very rare thing. People who are born with this 'veil' are said to have psychic powers, or the ability to see ghosts. His parents were never superstitious people (even though they themselves where magical), they were too joyous when they discovered he was healthy with no abnormalities whatsoever to worry about something harmless. He was the first person that was able to see me so I stuck around. Anything was better than wandering aimlessly around for eternity.

He was a very sad baby, to say the least – always crying, and no matter what his poor parents would do they would be up at all hours trying to make him stop. There was no reason for them to feel guilty, they were doing everything right. He was crying because of what he saw. In his mind, he was replaying the scene of my death over and over.

One day, he was crying alone in his cot, so I decided the only thing that would calm him down was if I did it myself. I hesitantly picked him up and cradled him in my arms. I had a lot of experience with babies since I had four younger brothers, who I used to look after when I was still alive. For the first time since he had laid eyes on me he stopped crying. He just stared up at me with his big hazel eyes; his pink lips slowly stopped quivering. That was when I realized this was the closest to humanity I was ever going to be able to get. And as his little hand caressed my cheek, I felt hope for the first time in 150 years. I was not going to be alone much longer.

This was the start of our bizarre and slightly dysfunctional relationship.

I have come to the conclusion that life hates me. I know what you're thinking how could life possibly hate James Potter? Well life didn't give you an 150 year old ghost that only you can see, decide to make your bedroom home. Not to mention every time I touch a person I see visions of both their past and future. Merlin help me.


End file.
